Big Bad Wolf

by Suleikha Snyder

  Bullshit. “Of course, you had a choice,” he snapped. “I left you that phone number so you had a choice.”

  Neha rocked back on her heels once the chains were loose. The brief, beautiful light of victory at her achievement faded as she responded to what he said. “And you thought what…? That I’d just sit quietly in a corner and let people I don’t even know handle it? Go back to my life like nothing happened? Do you really think it’s possible?” she demanded.

  “For you? It should be.” Joe gingerly stood up, shook out his stiff limbs as best he could, knowing full well he was probably going to have to lock back up soon enough. Like she’d said when she let herself in here, no way could this turn into a rescue. It was just a temporary reprieve. Somebody would eventually notice the cameras were on a loop. If not that, the guards had a schedule. They’d be back to shoot him up full of their nasty cocktail of sedatives before too long. “You should be able to go back. To get back everything I took from you.”

  She cussed at him then. Lyrical and harsh Punjabi words he didn’t understand but got the meaning of clear enough. And then she switched back to English with a frustrated huff. “And what about you? What about what’s been taken from you?”

  Nothing had been taken from him that he hadn’t willingly given up. Joe knew that. He’d done this. Every decision he’d made in his life had led him right here. He’d enlisted. He’d said yes to Apex. He’d pulled the trigger over and over again. He’d literally bitten off more than he could chew. “I’m where I belong. In a cage with the other animals.”

  “Oh, fuck you.” Neha blazed up in righteous rage, getting to her feet and socking him in the chest with a surprisingly powerful fist. “How dare you say that when there are thousands of people—hundreds of kids—in actual cages along our borders? You know you don’t belong here. Just like you didn’t belong in jail. You shouldn’t have to pay for what the military turned you into! You shouldn’t have to pay just because you’re different.”

  Christ. She still didn’t get it. Refused to get it. Like a Brave Little Social Justice Toaster. Of course he belonged in jail. “You want me to tell you they made us into killing machines. That they put this monster in me. Doc, it ain’t nothin’ that wasn’t already there. I’m not different. I’m Death. And I chose this.”

  “I don’t believe that.” She stared at him, eyes full of fierce anger and unshed tears. All those weeks ago, she’d wanted him to use a PTSD defense. Maybe she was the one who needed it. Maybe the trauma of the past few days was finally getting to her. “I won’t believe that. That is not the man I’ve gotten to know.”

  Joe barked out a laugh. “That’s probably every man you know. Look at this world. Look at those cages on the border. People keep saying ‘This isn’t us’ and ‘This isn’t America,’ but it is. It’s who we’ve always been. You know that even more than I do.”

  Neha didn’t let it go. Wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t let him go. “But that’s a cop-out!” she insisted. “Why can’t I expect better? From America and from you?”

  That was it, wasn’t it? She didn’t just expect better. She demanded better. She deserved better. Too bad she’d thrown in her lot with him. Joe growled, slamming his palm against the cinder-block wall. He already knew the noise would make no impact. He couldn’t hear out, so they couldn’t hear in. The room had been soundproofed. Probably so even the most sensitive shifters wouldn’t pick up on the screaming if they were drinking upstairs in the club. “Maybe neither of us is capable of better. You ever consider that?”

  “Never.” Her reply was almost immediate. “If I considered that, I wouldn’t be here. Is that what you want, Joe? Is that what you really want? Me gone?”

  No. No, it was the furthest thing from what he really wanted. He turned in one swift motion, whipping out one arm and hauling her bodily against him. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. Her curves against his angles. “What I really want…is you.”

  It felt like it’d been years since he’d kissed her. Too fucking long. So he did it now, lowering his head, taking her mouth. Swallowing whatever lawyerly argument she had lined up for him next. Inhaling her gasp of surprise and then the needy moan that followed it up. She wanted to blame every impulse on his wolf…but this was all the man. The man who’d wanted her from day one. The man who put her in danger because the need to fuck her was just that strong. The need to fuck her and have her and take her. To mark her with his teeth and his tongue. Sucking bruises into the column of her throat.

  “Joe…” He felt her hands on him, her nails digging into his back. Urging him on instead of telling him to stop. Why wouldn’t this woman tell him to stop? She was supposed to be the smart one, for Christ’s sake. The one with sense, the one with limits. The one with a Taser and a .22 in her purse.

  “Goddammit, Neha.” He cursed into her soft skin even as he was baring it, yanking at the straps of her dress, tugging up her skirt. “I’m not better. I can’t be better.”

  “Too bad,” she murmured, tipping her head back like she was offering a vampire her jugular, like she was asking him to mark her throat. “You’re all I want, too.”

  It was completely reckless to give in to this need. Just like they had in that alley what seemed like months ago now. Really just days. Now she was ready to take him against another wall, to spread her legs, welcome him deep. Demanding better from him. Deserving better from him. In the only way they could agree on right now. It was so risky. Letting her leave here smelling like him to go back out amid hostile shifters. But she’d already rubbed all over him. Already gotten his scent all over her. What did it matter if they made it worse? So, he made it as good as he could. Reaching down between them to stroke her clit through her panties. Kissing her until he was out of breath. He whispered all kinds of sentimental and sexy shit in her ear. Like how she was beautiful and how he’d never known anyone like her and he’d happily die in her pussy and wished he could right now.

  “That…that would be traumatic for me,” she laughed, even as she started to unravel. “I don’t…I don’t want you to die in my arms, Joe.” The tiny little spasms against his fingers, the jagged sound of her breathing. Fuck, he loved how they were together. How she pushed up into him, trapping his hand, slamming their hips together, chasing her orgasm.

  “I don’t want you to die at all, baby.” Joe stumbled away from the wall, one hand on her neck and the other gripping her ass, so there was nothing holding her up but him. So it was just them grinding up on each other, doing the work of getting her off. She locked her legs tighter around his waist, fucking herself on his fingers while his cock ached with jealousy. “That’s it. Yeah. Use me. Use me up, Doc,” he told her. “This is what I am. This is all I can be.”

  Her fuck toy. Her right now. Her future regret.

  That wasn’t what he said aloud, though. He was a colossal asshole who was absolutely going to break her heart, but he wasn’t that cruel. When Neha moaned her release into his ear, panting the question “What? What’s all you can be?” he told her the only thing that mattered in this moment.

  “Yours. Just yours.”

  * * *

  Yulia had promised her thirty minutes alone in the room, warning her that one of her brother’s men would be coming in on the forty-five mark to tranquilize Joe again. Neha knew that time had to be up. She still didn’t budge, except to set her clothing to rights.

  “Baby, you have to leave,” Joe whispered fiercely in the darkness that engulfed them, like he’d instinctively sensed part of the plan. “You have to go back.”

  “No. Not yet. Not without finishing this.” Vasiliev was out there somewhere. The goon guarding the door, too. He probably had an entire clip with Joe’s name on it—along with whatever they were pumping into his bloodstream every few hours to keep him from Hulking out and escaping. The last thing she was going to do was turn tail and run. She and Third Shift had already put too many things in motion. �
�Not without you.”

  “Not with me.” There was a desperation in his voice she’d never heard before. And she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew it was mirrored there as well. “It can’t end good with me. It won’t.”

  “I’m not oblivious to reality, Joe,” she whispered. For all her ideas of having DGS work things out with law enforcement, any chance of a plea had been off the table the minute they rabbited out of the courthouse. “Even if the people I brought in on this can get us out of this, I’ll be disbarred. You’ll land in solitary. That’s assuming we don’t get taken out by Vasiliev’s guys on the way out of here…or some trigger-happy cop two blocks away.”

  “Then why won’t you leave?” Joe still wouldn’t look at her. He shoved ineffectually at the wall he’d just loved her against. Like he could push it away along with her. “Tell them I forced you. Tell them I kidnapped you. Tell them whatever. Just go. Get the fuck away from me.”

  “I can’t.” The confession tore from her throat. Badass Neha Ahluwalia, who was rarely afraid of anything and had a damn go bag full of weapons. And she was suddenly the most scared she’d ever been in her life. Scared of this moment. Scared of her truth. Scared of what would happen if she didn’t speak it. “I can’t leave you, Joe…because you’re inside of me. It doesn’t matter if I physically walk away from you… You’re under my skin. You’re in my head. I don’t know where I stop and you begin. So we’re going to get you out of here. Out of this. However we can.”

  Joe’s shoulders shook. But he still wouldn’t break. Even as he crouched to slip his cuffs back on and return to his position against the pipes that ran from floor to ceiling. Only when he was seated again, locked up tight, did he look up at her. And his eyes were hooded, hollow. “You think you can rescue me, Doc. Save me. But you can’t. You never really could.”

  The three little words were right there. On the edge of her tongue. She knew better than to say them right now. So, she showed him instead. She joined him on the cold concrete floor, straddled his lap, and took his face between her palms. Forcing him to look at her. To acknowledge her. To acknowledge this. That he was hard for her—and soft for her—even with death right outside the door. “Tell me you’re not here with me, Joe. Tell me I’m not your obsession after all.”

  But he couldn’t, could he? Because that was why they were here in this place to begin with. All because he’d teased her across a table and then begged to hold her in his arms just once. He was the romantic, not her. He was the one driven by emotion. He’d killed six men because he wanted to. Because he needed to. And he’d kissed her because he wanted to. Because he needed to.

  “Neha.” He made a low, desperate sound. “Doc…”

  “I can’t leave you,” she repeated, shifting to rub against his dick, wishing she could take its sweet, hot length one more time. “You’re in me, Joe. You’re in me.”

  He didn’t try to argue. Not this time. Because there was no cross-examination to be made. She had him fair and square. He curved into her, as best he could with his hands restrained, buried his face in her throat, breathed her in. And she felt the damp warmth of his tears. Maybe he was crying for the little brother he’d lost and for the crimes he’d committed. Maybe he was crying for her, for them, for what they’d found together. He knew it just as well as she did: Neha wouldn’t still be here if they weren’t in love.

  They didn’t have time to waste, but they stole the minutes anyway. She held him close until the grief and the guilt abated and all that remained was pure passion, pure trust. And then she kissed him with her want, her need. It didn’t last nearly long enough. Over before it began. Cut short by Yulia’s sharp knock on the door…and by the inevitable weight of reality.

  Chapter 28

  The staff was settled in the kitchen for “family dinner” before the evening shift—none the wiser about the two new Pit waitresses who’d joined the table. Conversation flowed in English and various Russian dialects, and Yulia was not at all surprised to hear Grace’s voice mixed in with the latter. She seemed formidable, more and more competent each moment. The same could not be said for Neha Ahluwalia…or for Yulia herself. Her knees shook as she made her way toward her brother’s office, her skin still chilled with the memory of opening the “guest room” door to find Neha and her wolf lover in a desperate embrace. Foolish, foolish romantics. Taking such a risk. But she’d taken the same risks, hadn’t she? Messaging Danny. Meeting with him. Kissing him recklessly where the drones and Aleksei’s men could see. Bringing his people into the club.

  And she wasn’t done taking chances. Leading the woman not named Maria through the private corridors so she could do whatever she was here to do. Spying once again outside her brother’s door. Pressing flat to the wall, slowing her heartbeat as if in hibernation, tuning her ears to the voices on the other side of the cinder blocks. She’d practiced such things as a girl. A child’s game. Using her shifter skills to the best of her ability. Listening to her parents as they prepared for parties. Eavesdropping on Aleksei and Yuri as they played at being men and tussled like cubs. But there was no playing now. No game. What she heard now could be the difference between life and death.

  “…I am ready, Sasha,” Aleksei was saying in his most boastful tone. “After tonight, there will be no more distractions.”

  Sasha. She had a vague recollection of the honored guest from the other night in the arena. The man who’d smelled rank and strange. A representative of whoever held Aleksei’s strings. His voice was higher than her brother’s, his Russian accent stilted, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable with the language. “You have assured us of this many times, and many times we’ve been disappointed. Aston won’t be pleased if you fail him again.”

  Aston. This name, too, rang familiar. She’d heard it before, in whispers and other snatches of conversation not meant for her ears. What could, and would, this Aston do if Aleksei disappointed him once more? Take his territory? Take his life? What was worse? Yulia suppressed a shiver, concentrating on listening, on remembering. Anything that might help the operation. Anything that might get their prisoner out alive.

  Their back-and-forth of threats and promises went on for a few minutes, like a kind of negotiation. And then Sasha laughed. “Enough!” he declared. “Either you will succeed or you will die, my friend. Now tell me of this grand finale you have arranged for us tonight.”

  And, oh, her prideful brother did just that, explaining with great relish how he was saving the best for last. “I will make an example of Joseph Peluso,” he bragged. “He is fighting one of my best men, one of my best bears. Yuri will make certain he does not leave the cage alive…and all who witness the execution will understand that Aleksei Vasiliev is not to be trifled with. You cross me, you pay with your life.”

  Intellectually, she’d always known Yuri killed people for Aleksei. Such was their organization. When she’d moved to New York at eleven years old, she’d thought her elder sibling a successful restaurant owner, a simple businessman. Her illusions had shattered before her sixteenth birthday. But this? Seeing Yuri Medvedev murder a man in cold blood in front of dozens of witnesses? Yulia could hear no more. She wrenched away from the wall and scurried back toward the club proper. She ducked into the supply closet just off the kitchens, pulled her burner from the depths of her dress, and quickly summarized everything she’d learned. This was no time for cryptic codes and coyness about hotel accommodations. She laid it all it out in stark, simple words. The timeline for this evening’s events. The name of her brother’s superior. Danny wrote back almost immediately.

  Good. This is incredibly helpful. Are you safe?

  Was she safe? Had she ever been safe? Yulia choked on a lunatic giggle as she typed out a lie.

  For now.

  It was as if he could see her, hear her, through the cellular network.

  That’s not enough. I want you safe forever.

  This time, she choke
d on a rush of tears. What had she done to deserve this sweet, caring human’s affection and devotion? Served him a few drinks. Offered him a few truths and far more half-truths and not nearly enough kisses. And now he and his people were caught up in her world…where everything stank of death and destruction.

  You’re so funny, Danny. There is no assurance of forever.

  Yes, there is. I’m coming for you. I’m gonna get you out.

  But it was not her getting out that troubled her. It was, instead, a fear of dragging him further in.

  * * *

  Neha had watched professional wrestling. Ultimate fighting. Martial-arts movies. None of it compared to the Pit. To whatever this was. The air in the underground arena was rank with pheromones, musk, something distinctly animal. The music piping in through the state-of-the-art sound system had long since been drowned out by a bizarre kind of white noise. It had taken her several minutes to figure out that the sound was growls. A chorus of vocal and subvocal sounds blending together. It was a struggle to hold on to her drinks tray—and her composure.

  If Grace was similarly unsettled, there was no indication. She was gliding through the crowd with ease, just like Yulia. Bantering in Cantonese with a visiting businessman here, ducking a grabby hand there. She’d transformed from the scarily efficient operative who’d picked Neha up from the park yesterday to this bubbly, flirty beauty completely comfortable in terrifying surroundings. Whenever Finn showed up—which had to be soon—it would probably blow his mind.

  Joe’s match was the night’s main event. Slated for some point after midnight. Three minor cage fights had already played out. Bear shifter versus bear shifter. Fairly evenly paired, but no less lethal for it. Neha wasn’t sure she would ever forget the visuals. Fur and teeth. Blood slicking the floor. A random club employee coming in after each match to bleach the steel cage that sat in the center of the arena. It was a circular space, with tables situated in ever-widening rings around the fighting stage and a raised VIP area where Vasiliev and his goons could lounge within prime view of the blood sports. The walls and ceiling were painted a lurid bordello red, the floors easily washable terrazzo tile. The entire effect was terrifying in a way she’d never before experienced.